


Breathe

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Pool Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 00:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poolboy!Thorin and richkid!Bilbo. I don't know what convinced me it'd be a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to alkjira for reading through the first draft and entertaining my ridiculous bunnies.
> 
> For additional help in 'getting into the mood', see [here](http://diemarysues.tumblr.com/post/56585622043/richard-put-that-thing-away-before-you-injure). I will advise that it's not exactly safe for work.

“Are you planning on drowning yourself?”

 

Bilbo jumped – almost falling into the water he’d been staring into – and whirled around as quickly as he could. Standing in the grass was a stranger, with long dark hair and blue eyes – bluer than the pool water, which was incredible.

 

“What – who are you? How did you get here? Why are you here?”

 

The stranger smirked. “I’m a Dwarf come to steal you away.”

 

“Isn’t it Elves?” he asked, frowning. “Who’re supposed to do that?”

 

“I’d much rather be a Dwarf than an Elf,” was the lofty reply. Bilbo found his cheeks burning as the stranger’s blue blue eyes raked him up and down. “You’d most likely be neither.”

 

Bilbo shook his head. What a time to be distracted by nonsense talk! “ _Who are you_?”

 

“Answer my question first – ‘cause if you are going to commit suicide I guess I’d be obliged to save you.”

 

“Why would you be _obliged_?” When he only got raised eyebrows in reply, Bilbo huffed loudly. “And no, I’m not going to drown myself.”

 

“I do work for your parents.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his denim shorts. “Doubtless they’d fire me if I let their precious only child die right in front of me.”

 

Bilbo pursed his lips. “So you’re the new pool boy.”

 

“And you’re the spoiled Baggins brat. Pleased to meet you.”

 

It took a moment of open-mouthed astonishment for Bilbo to splutter back to coherency. “I beg your – how _dare_ you!”

 

The pool boy didn’t even deign to reply to this beyond rolling his eyes. Clearly he was done with talking altogether, because he ambled off in the direction of the gardening shed, presumably in search of whatever tools one needed to clean a swimming pool.

 

Bilbo just put his nose in the air and decided to take the high road of stalking back into the house, rather than staying where he was and railing at the stranger. No matter how much he’d have deserved it. (And no matter how much it felt like he was running away, tail between his legs.)

 

The stranger’s name turned out to be Thorin Oakenshield. Bilbo found this out from his mother’s old friend – his sort-of godfather –, Gandalf, when the man had come over with dinner that night.

 

He’d taken one look at Bilbo’s face, chuckled, and said, “I see you’ve met Thorin.”

 

“Who’s Thorin?” Bilbo asked, disgruntled but accepting the paper bag Gandalf held out. He moved out of the way so the tall man could step further into the house.

 

“Thorin,” Gandalf replied, pulling out his pipe, “is your new swimming pool caretaker.”

 

“You could just say pool boy. And you could smoke outside.”

 

“Both your parents smoke inside and you know it very well.”

 

He rolled his eyes, doling out the take out into bowls he’d set on the table earlier. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

 

Gandalf struck a match.

 

“Where are your parents off to this year? Bella might’ve told me but I think I’ve forgotten.”

 

“Greenwood.” He held out a pair of chopsticks – only to snort after a moment and place them by Gandalf’s plate. “They might be swinging by Beorn’s on the way back.”

 

“You know, you ought to go with them one day. Get out of the Shire sometime.”

 

Bilbo smiled as best he could with a mouthful of pad thai. “I just think they ought to have time without me. They spend enough time here as it is. I think Mum’ll go mad if she didn’t have the summers to look forward to.”

 

“And your father would probably go mad if he didn’t have the rest of the year to recover from those summers.” Gandalf chuckled at his own joke, smoke rising in gentle puffs around him. He picked up a fork – where had that materialised from? – and tipped some rice onto his plate.

 

They ate in silence. At least, Bilbo ate in silence. Gandalf allowed his food to cool as he finished his pipe, thoughtfully blowing smoke rings at the ceiling. When he finally set it aside, Bilbo had long pushed away his bowl.

 

“Your studies are going well, I trust.”

 

“They’re fine.”

 

Gandalf raised his eyebrows. “Except?”

 

“Except what?”

 

“You aren’t telling me something.”

 

Bilbo kept silent for a long moment, staring into the contents of his mug. “Do you… think that if I hadn’t been homeschooled that I’d be… normal?”

 

“Bilbo. You aren’t normal at all.”

 

Ah. That hadn’t been an answer he’d anticipated. It also wasn’t an answer that he wanted to hear.

 

“But,” Gandalf continued, tapping the table leg with his cane, “that isn’t a bad thing.”

 

* * *

 

Maybe it was lucky that he wasn't normal, because if he had been he wouldn't have thought to hide himself from the new pool boy. The plan was that, by hiding, he wouldn't get noticed and insulted again.

 

Sadly, like most plans, this one wasn’t perfect. 

 

He could see Thorin’s smile. “Come out, little rich boy. I won’t bite your head off this time.”

 

“I’m not a rich boy,” Bilbo protested, nonetheless trotting out of his hiding place. “I’m not little, either.”

 

“You live on prime property, in a huge house with a pool, have me to take care of said pool during the summer and a groundskeeper to look after the place.” Thorin easily flicked away the leaves in the net. “And you are tiny.”

 

“My parents own all this. Not me.” He bit his lip. There was no point arguing about his height when Thorin was more than a head taller than him.

 

“Same difference,” Thorin muttered. A little more loudly, he said, “I’ll only be a few more minutes. Then you can get in.”

 

Bilbo frowned, knocked out of his intense scrutiny of the pattern on the pool boy’s rash guard. “Get in?”

 

“The pool?” The tone of his voice was unfairly mocking. Thorin leaned on the net, hip cocked. (Not that Bilbo noticed that particular detail. Of course not.) “To swim?”

 

“Oh! No!” Bilbo laughed nervously, only just refraining from backing away and running into the house. “No, no, no. I don’t.”

 

“Don’t what?”

 

“Er. Swim.”

 

Bilbo expected to be treated to a look of incredulity, or at least one of disgust. And he was almost certain that such an expression would suit Thorin’s constantly unpleasant personality.

 

He hadn’t thought he’d be laughed at.

 

“What is so funny?” Bilbo asked, sounding petulant even to his own years. He quickly uncrossed his arms.

 

“You are.” The residual smile on his face actually made him look… handsome. It was more than a little crooked and revealed white, even teeth. “You don’t have to worry, you know. I’ll be leaving.”

 

“That’s excellent news. But what’s your point?”

 

His smile morphed into a smirk. His eyes were bright and wicked. “It’s obvious you don’t want me to see you in your… what d’you wear? A steamer wetsuit?”

 

Bilbo’s forehead scrunched up with his frown. “What on Earth’s that?”

 

Thorin only laughed again.

 

* * *

 

Despite the fact that they traded barbs every single time they shared the same space, Bilbo found himself out by the pool whenever Thorin was there. He’d probably absorbed more Vitamin D in the past week than the whole of last month, that was how much he was under the sun.

 

He’d received Gandalf’s weekly call last night, and just before hanging up, he had advised that Bilbo invest in ‘a good brand of sunscreen’. His sort-of godfather could be annoyingly omniscient at times.

 

Bilbo looked up from the story book he was reading, disregarding the tale of Martin and Richard in favour of watching Thorin wipe sweat away from his brow. It was a sight to enjoy, as Thorin’s sleeveless rash guard displayed his arms beautifully.

 

And, yes, he’d acknowledged his attraction to Thorin. He’d have to be blind not to at least appreciate his looks, and deaf not to be enticed by his voice. Truth be told though, Bilbo would have been happy if Thorin was mute, because then he’d stop calling Bilbo variations of ‘rich brat’. It was a tiresome moniker, and very inaccurate.

 

He turned the page.

 

Bilbo did wonder, though, if this was what it was like. Having a real friend. A friend with whom he argued constantly, true, but… It was nice not to be as lonely as he usually was.

 

He’d spent every summer on his own since he’d been a teenager. And as he’d told Gandalf, Bilbo honestly didn’t mind that his parents had some alone time together. He knew from stories during family gatherings that Bungo’ and Belladonna’s relationship had definitely not been expected to last a month, much less that they get married. But his parents were helplessly in love – sometimes disgustingly, which was why Bilbo preferred not to accompany them on holiday.

 

He should really call them today.

 

“You know, if you’re not swimming, I’m going to. It’s _boiling_.”

 

Bilbo made a disinterested noise – he’d reached a fiddly bit of plot, and this was at least _somebody_ would be using the pool for once. Then he realised what had just happened. And what was going to happen.

 

Thank god he was wearing sunglasses today.

 

Thorin, apparently having taken Bilbo’s grunt as acquiescence, was releasing his hair from its low ponytail. He left the elastic around one wrist before reaching for the button of his shorts.

 

Bilbo hoped that he wouldn’t blush too obviously.

 

His hazel eyes were intent as inch after inch of skin was revealed to him, the hard muscles of Thorin’s powerful thighs flexing as he stepped out of the denim and tossed it onto the manicured grass.

 

_How_ could knees be attractive? His own were knobbly and best hidden by trousers at all times. Bilbo frowned. He didn’t think he owned any shorts that could fit him, now that he thought about it. Well, that was a relief for the rest of the world, then. Even if it was a little stuffily hot to sit in the sun in his trousers. Though his yoga pants were probably better than cargos or something.

 

“Oi, rich boy.”

 

Bilbo started. “Hmm? What?” He was immeasurably relieved that he’d been staring at his own knees instead of anything else. Anything else being, um. _That_. Between Thorin’s legs. Barely contained by whatever shiny material swimsuits were made of and really he’d take an eye out if he wasn’t careful and – oh, was Thorin speaking again?

 

“You alright? Not getting heatstroke or anything?” Loosed from the elastic, his hair curled around his ears becomingly.

 

“Yes?” He almost winced, before removing his glasses and meeting Thorin’s eyes. “I mean, yes, I’m alright. Why?”

 

“Look a bit red, is all.”

 

“M’fine.” Oh god, oh bloody hell, he was walking closer, oh god those _thighs_ –

 

“Just, if you die, make sure you do it after I’ve got home. So I’ve got an alibi.”

 

“I’ll try not to inconvenience y – what – what are you doing?”

 

Thorin had the backs of his fingers against Bilbo’s forehead, feeling for his temperature. Seemingly disappointed at the lack of a fever, he instead moved his hand to tug on one of Bilbo’s curls.

 

“Just checking. No need to get excited.”

 

Well, Bilbo _wasn’t_ excited, so there. (He’d made sure.) He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if _Thorin_ became excited – and if his swimming trunks could survive it.

 

Snorting, Thorin gave one last tug before stepping away. Bilbo would have protested this abuse of his hair, but Thorin had now presented him with a spectacular view of his backside. _Really_ spectacular. Bilbo’s fingers curled over the edges of his book, just to keep his hands busy while Thorin – and his arse – were still within grasp.

 

He thought he’d be safe once Thorin slipped into the water. He was mistaken.

 

There was something _mesmerising_ about watching someone swim. (Maybe it had something to do with it being Thorin doing the swimming.) It just made Bilbo all the more certain that it was one physical activity that he’d never be able to master. Every muscle of Thorin’s body moved sinuously, arms and legs cutting through the water as he swam the length of the pool again and again.

 

The sunlight caught the ripples in the water, breaking into little rainbows. And Bilbo’s brain was being entirely too ridiculous if it was latching on to that sort of detail. He determinedly lowered his gaze to more important things.

 

By the time Thorin had stopped for a break, resting his forearms over the edge of the pool, Bilbo had made exactly zero progress in his book.

 

“Isn’t it a bit odd that the hired help is using the pool while the employer’s son is just sitting aside?”

 

Bilbo sighed, and made a show of replacing his bookmark. He wasn’t sure how convincing his acting was. “Your point being?”

 

“I was trying to be polite and invite you in.” His grin was crooked. “Admittedly, into your own pool.”

 

“I don’t – I – you.” Chewing the inside of his cheek, Bilbo despaired the single lock of hair plastered to Thorin’s forehead. It was off-centre and curled over one thick eyebrow. “No.”

 

“Very eloquent.” Thorin frowned suddenly, as if all of Bilbo’s words had only just caught up with him. “Wait – why not? You have to be cooking in those bloody clothes.”

 

If he was sweating, it was for an entirely different reason.

 

“I don’t swim.”

 

“Yes, you’ve said that before. Never really said why, though.”

 

Bilbo looked down at his lap, twisting his fingers together miserably. “I can’t.”

 

Thorin was clearly taken aback. It took him awhile to respond – a little surprising, considering how he usually had a smart remark for everything. “What’s the point in having a pool, then?”

 

“It came with the house,” Bilbo said shortly. He didn’t want to get into the bad memories of almost drowning, and his parents’ misconception that he’d gotten over it. “I don’t see why I have to use it.”

 

Whether Thorin believed him or not wasn’t clear; he just nodded. “I could teach you,” he said, slipping onto his back and floating. It appeared to take him no effort.

 

“I’d rather learn to be a pool boy myself,” Bilbo muttered, sullen as he returned to staring at his hands.

 

“I could do that, too.”

 

“You wouldn’t have the patience.”

 

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Thorin flipped over, slowly swimming over to the shallow end – and somehow keeping his head above water the whole time. “I think you’re the one without patience.”

 

Before he knew it, Bilbo had walked the short distance to the steps leading out of the pool, the grass warm underneath his feet. He was standing before the edge just as Thorin climbed out, dripping. It shouldn’t have been easy to ignore the beads of water running down his neck and down his thighs, but it was. The expression in Thorin’s eyes was more captivating, soft and open, even with the cocksure grin on his face.

 

“Problem, Richie Rich?”

 

Bilbo scowled, curled his hand into the wet rash guard, and kissed Thorin.

 

* * *

 

Their second summer together was spent half by the poolside, half in the gardening shed. Bilbo learned about chlorine-to-water ratios, and learned about how much he enjoyed the weight of Thorin’s cock on his tongue.

 

* * *

 

“You know, considering the time I spend here, it’s really too bad that Mr. and Mrs. Baggins don’t pay me by the hour.”

 

Bilbo didn’t look up. “So you’re saying you should be paid to spend time with me?”

 

“Didn’t say that.” Thorin dragged his fingers through Bilbo’s hair.

 

“It was implied.”

 

“You just like putting words in my mouth.”

 

“I like putting other things in there. Keeps you from talking.” Bilbo whined when his notebook was snatched out of his grasp, his pencil leaving a lone line down the page. He flipped over so he was facing Thorin, though still half-lying on him. “What was that for?”

 

“No reason.”

 

Gripping his pencil like a dagger, Bilbo glowered as convincingly as he could. “Give it back, or regret it.”

 

“You’re about as frightening as a bunny.”

 

He groaned. “I shouldn’t have told you that story.”

 

“Why not?” Thorin had set the notebook aside; his arm slid snugly around Bilbo’s waist. “I think it’s cute that Beorn – was that the name? – bought you bunny onesies.”

 

“It would have been cute when I was two,” he said crossly. “Not now.”

 

“But you’ve got the twitchy nose.” Thorin lay what could only be described as a smooch on Bilbo’s nose. “And the weirdly pointy ears.” He kissed the one closest to him. “All we need to get you is a tail.”

 

Bilbo jerked in surprise. He certainly hadn’t expected Thorin’s large hand to slip over his arse. “Thorin –” He broke off with a squeak.

 

“Yes?” Thorin didn’t bother looking innocent. “Thank you for always wearing these.” He thoughtfully squeezed his handful again. “Do you even do yoga?”

 

“Every morning. I’m very flexible.” Bilbo plucked the sunglasses off of Thorin’s nose, tossing them aside. “You could test that, if you want.”

 

“Really?” Thorin tugged Bilbo upwards easily, slipping his thigh between Bilbo’s. “Very generous of you.”

 

It was Bilbo who sealed the gap between them, sighing through his ‘twitchy’ nose. The sun warmed the back of his neck and Thorin’s hands drew strong strokes up and down his spine. He shivered helplessly at the slide of Thorin’s tongue against his, pulling away with a gasp when Thorin’s hands stroked further down.

 

“You have,” Thorin growled, nipping Bilbo’s neck, “a fantastic arse.”

 

More colour flushed his cheeks. Bilbo was utterly lost, barely able to slip his fingers into Thorin’s hair, cradling his head to guide his mouth to more sensitive skin. Thorin obliged, teeth closing tenderly over the fleshy bit of Bilbo’s ear.

 

Oh, _oh_ , that was – Bilbo groaned in pleasure. He ground his hips against Thorin’s solid thigh, despairing at the clothes still separating their bodies, his skin slick and prickly in the heat of the afternoon. There was a moment of uncertainty at the errant thought of them being in the open, but it was chased away by soft kisses behind his ear.

 

Bilbo only untangled one hand from Thorin’s hair because of the better prospect of slipping it under his shirt. His semi-obsession with the man’s chest was perfectly reasonable, Bilbo thought. Even if liking chest hair as much as he did had been a surprising discovery.

 

As Thorin sucked a bruise into Bilbo’s neck, Bilbo squirmed powerlessly. “Fuck me,” he breathed, hand gaining confidence and slipping further up the cotton shirt.

 

It was surprising – and aggravating – when Bilbo’s progress was halted. He glanced first at the hand locked around his wrist, then at the no-longer-kissing-him Thorin – who spoke before Bilbo could demand answers.

 

“Not today.”

 

At any other time, Bilbo would have been breathlessly flattered at Thorin’s ruined voice. But not now. Not with the bright fire still burning low in his belly.

 

“What, you think I’m not ready?” Bilbo wanted to push away from Thorin, but Thorin’s other hand closed on his upper arm. Now he wasn’t impressed with the show of strength.

 

“ _I’m_ not.”

 

That… that wasn’t a reply he’d been expecting.

 

“Bilbo?” Apparently satisfied that Bilbo wasn’t going to bolt, Thorin had loosed his hold. His touch was gentle, stroking down the curve of Bilbo’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

 

Bilbo was not alright. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out why Thorin wasn’t ready – or why he’d said so. It wasn’t that he didn’t want sex; he just didn’t want it with Bilbo. Not very surprising, now that he thought about it. ‘Fantastic arse’, that was probably just to keep him stupidly happy, a morsel offered for distraction –

 

“Bilbo!” Thorin’s interjection was coupled with shaking Bilbo slightly, jarring him out of his thoughts.

 

“It’s alright.” He lowered his gaze. “I understand.”

 

Thorin made a frustrated noise – it made him sound a bit like a goose. “You clearly don’t.” He spoke quickly, overriding Bilbo’s protests. “I _want_ you. Okay? I do. That’s not the problem here. I just prefer that our first time having sex isn’t… out on the grass.” He looked embarrassed. “Call it out of character for me, but I want – I want it to be special, and safe.”

 

Bilbo deflated abruptly.

 

Again, that hadn’t at all been what he’d expected. And here he’d been thinking such, such unkind things – typical of him to get it so wrong, really. Suddenly breathless and shy, Bilbo dropped a kiss on Thorin’s cheek, remaining close after. “It’s… not out of character.” And it really wasn’t.

 

He could see Thorin’s smile – the barest quirk of his lips. Bilbo returned it with interest, pressing his nose to Thorin’s, nuzzling softly. His chest felt tight, too tight, heart beating wildly against his sternum. This wasn’t any sort of feeling he was prepared to face – strange and exhilarating and frightening and he didn’t know if he should even be thinking about it. Really, he should be, he should be considering his upcoming graduation, considering his parents’ anniversary next Thursday, considering everything but the overwhelming affection he was feeling for –

 

Feeling for –

 

Thorin then opened his mouth and ruined it all.

 

“Still want your notebook back? I think I’m sitting on your pencil.”

 

Bilbo sighed, and tucked his face into Thorin’s neck. “Leave it.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey, rich brat.”

 

“Thorin! What are you doing?”

 

“Oh, relax.” He rolled his eyes, easily resting his forearms on the windowsill. “You’re at home alone, after all.”

 

“That’s not what I’m concerned about.” Well, not after he’d remembered that his parents had left yesterday. “Anyone could see you – one of the neighbours could be calling the police right now!”

 

Thorin scoffed. “The first thing they’d think of is that you’ve got a secret lover visiting you. Which is true enough. I know the people in this neighbourhood; all romantics. It’s ridiculous.”

 

Bilbo’s heart had skipped at the careless mention of ‘lover’, but he found himself frowning. “Oh, you know that very well, do you?”

 

“Don’t be like that.”

 

“I’ll be whatever I like! I should tip you right into my garden.”

 

“You should move so I can climb in. It’s not very comfortable being out on the ladder, you know.”

 

“You’ll get stuck anyway. Your shoulders are too wide for my window.”

 

Thorin levelled him with an impressive look from beneath thick eyebrows. “Bilbo.”

 

“Thorin. You could have used the front door. Like, oh I don’t know, a normal person.”

 

“Just –”

 

“Oh, alright.” Bilbo sighed and stepped back, watching Thorin drop his bag into the room before clambering in through the window. Miraculously, it wasn’t as graceful an entrance as Bilbo had thought it would be.

 

He opened his mouth, determined to get a word in before Thorin could – except Thorin was kissing him deeply, very much cutting off his train of thought. It was embarrassing how he immediately went jelly-kneed. If you were supposed to be embarrassed about that sort of thing. Bilbo couldn’t decide, not when his brain had gone on holiday.

 

When they parted for air, he leaned his forehead onto Thorin’s chest. He couldn’t look into those pale eyes. “Why are you here, Thorin?”

 

Strong fingers insistently tipped his chin upwards. “I’m here because I’ve wanted this – wanted you – ever since I saw you itching to drown yourself.”

 

“I have never intended to drown myself,” Bilbo said, pulling Thorin towards his bed and ignoring his nervousness.

 

The taller of the two stilled him, though, before they reached the bed. In the half gloom Thorin looked almost tender as he cupped Bilbo’s cheeks in his big hands. “You don’t see it,” he said softly. “You never have. How lonely you are.”

 

Bilbo bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from shouting that he knew _that_ very well. It was an intrinsic part of him, right from childhood. The rest of his family lived far away, and visited rarely if at all. He had no siblings. No real friends. Only his parents, and – And –

 

“I have you,” he said, finally, drawing back from Thorin and sitting on the bed. “That’s enough.”

 

It was clear from Thorin’s expression that he had something to say to this, but he quietened at insistent tugging on his leather jacket. That and other clothes ended up on the floor as they tussled on the bed, and then words left them altogether.

 

Bilbo cried out when Thorin was seated fully inside him; he pressed his forehead into the pillow and breathed deep as he shivered, as Thorin stroked gentle fingers from Bilbo’s chest to belly and back up again.

 

Soon enough it became easier. Bilbo was able to gasp and whimper, moving his hips to counter equally clumsy thrusts. Thorin’s stubble burned and scraped his shoulders. The sheets were cool and slippery underneath his knees.

 

It wasn’t anything Bilbo had thought it’d be. He hadn’t expected to sweat so much, or that he’d end up quite that sticky. He hadn’t expected to laugh and curse in the same breath, or to delight so much in wrenching groans from someone else’s throat. He hadn’t expected to so keenly enjoy the feel of chest hair rubbing against his back, or that he would fall apart so quickly.

 

Didn’t matter. They were both young, and were back to pawing at each other soon enough.

 

“Please – _please_ , I need –”

 

“More! Bilbo, yes –”

 

“Ahh, ah, ah!”

 

“Just don’t, fuck, don’t stop –”

 

Bilbo bit his lip as he came. It was less out of any passion-filled reason, and more to hold back admissions that neither of them was ready for. Even then he was realistic to a fault, laughing breathlessly as he and Thorin kissed. Their noses squashed together, and Bilbo laughed again.

 

“I should make you do the laundry,” he said once he’d gotten his breath back. “Climbing into my room, despoiling me…”

 

“Who uses that word?” Thorin’s lips explored the length of his shoulder blade. “Budge up.”

 

“Get off.”

 

“Already did. Twice.”

 

Bilbo laughed in spite of himself, and obligingly scooted over so neither of them was in a wet spot. Cautiously, he took Thorin’s hand; at the lack of any complaint, he brought it over his body to rest on his chest.

 

Maybe he’d make some mushrooms and tomatoes for breakfast in the morning. Wow Thorin with his best dish. He slipped a hand underneath the pillow to support his head. Did he have tomatoes? He could probably make omelettes if he didn’t –

 

“Bilbo… I need to speak with you.”

 

Bilbo stretched, blinking. “Now? Not morning?”

 

“Now.”

 

“What is it?”

 

Thorin took a heavy breath. Bilbo felt it, hot and damp, at the back of his neck. For some reason, it made him shiver.

 

“I’m leaving. I have to – tomorrow morning, I’m leaving.”

 

For one long moment, Bilbo thought he’d misheard. But obviously he hadn’t. He hadn’t. As he stared at the wall opposite, he could feel darkness and ice seeping into his veins. _You knew this would happen. You knew_.

 

“I meant to tell you earlier. But I – I wanted to keep seeing you.”

 

At least Thorin apparently knew him well enough to realise that Bilbo wouldn’t have continued seeing him after receiving such an announcement. Good for him.

 

“And tonight I promised myself I would tell you before anything happened,” Thorin continued. “But I… we were on the bed and then I couldn’t…”

 

“So what?” Bilbo asked angrily. “You decided to be magnanimous and leave me something of you before you left?”

 

“No! I wanted…” Thorin made a frustrated noise. “I wanted something of _you_.”

 

“Something of the spoiled rich boy.” The bitterness twisted his words as they left his mouth, leaving them ugly and cutting. “You should have just left without saying anything.”

 

“How could I have done that? I love you!”

 

That… hurt. But of course. Of _course_ Thorin would say that now, throw it in his face like, like it was going to solve everything. It wouldn’t, of course. All the admission did was make Bilbo shake. He wasn’t sure if it was because of fury or tears – or just from suppressing the urge to scream.

 

“Bilbo?”

 

“Just shut up.” He had his eyes screwed tightly shut, and kept his grip on Thorin’s hand. “Shut up and stay.”

 

He wasn’t sure if he meant for the night, or forever.

 

* * *

 

The first summer on his own was unexpectedly cold. Bilbo sat in his bedroom and watched the leaves collect in the pool through the tightly shut window.

 

He still didn’t know how to swim.

 

* * *

 

His parents died before the issue of where (and how) he would move out could crop up.

 

He moved on, though. That was what he always did. As luck would have had it – although perhaps it had less to do with luck and more to do with Gandalf’s influence – Bilbo managed to obtain a job in the local uni. And so he settled. Years passed. He actually made friends – and wasn’t it a surprise that people wanted to spend time with him?

 

“Hey Dr. Boggins!”

 

Even if those people weren’t necessarily in his, er, age group.

 

“Hello, Kíli,” Bilbo greeted, not bothering to correct the lad. He’d learned quickly that it would be a waste of breath. “Where’s your brother?”

 

“Right here!” Fíli was every bit as loud as Kíli, despite their differences in height and the (very stark) difference in hair colour. “Sorry, my class was across campus.”

 

“And Kíli got here faster?”

 

“Oh, nah.” Kíli made himself comfortable on one corner of Bilbo’s desk, precariously close to a stack of assignments. “Different classes. I think we’re only sharing yours and Professor Peredhil. Gotta say, I prefer yours.”

 

“Because my class isn’t first thing in the morning?”

 

“Because he keeps thinking we’re twins and making sure we don’t sit together. Arsehole.” Kíli ignored Bilbo’s admonishment. “Though, yeah, I don’t know what he wants us to learn at eight.”

 

“If you’re not twins, how’re you both in the same year?”

 

“Oh, he’s the smart one,” Fíli said carelessly. A note of pride had entered his voice. “Skipped a couple of years and everything.” He then spoiled it by going, “Can’t you tell? I am the handsome brother, after all.”

 

“Hey! Mum said I’m the handsome one, everyone knows that!”

 

“No, Kíli, you’re the pretty one. I’d much rather be handsome than pretty.”

 

“Well you’re obviously neither!”

 

Bilbo broke in before the two could start trading blows instead of insults. “Boys. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

 

“Dad _suggested_ that we find somewhere else to be today.” Fíli grimaced.

 

Kíli broke in, his face a moue of disgust. “That means he’s going to do having sex with Mum. Ugh.”

 

“You didn’t have to _say_ it!”

 

“What? That’s what they’re going to _do_.”

 

“You still didn’t have to say it,” Fíli muttered, crossing his arms and looking away.

 

Bilbo looked on in amusement. “Does this mean you’re going to be loitering here? I have got lesson plans to draw up, you know.”

 

“Oh, don’t mind us, Dr. Boggins.”

 

“Yeah, you won’t even notice us being here.”

 

“I very much doubt that.” Bilbo rescued the assignments before they were knocked off the table. He shuffled them absently, debating whether his next question would be too rude. “You sure you don’t need to be doing something?”

 

“Nope. Nothing due this week.” Looking entirely too proud of himself, Fíli started poking at Bilbo’s window box. “And we’re definitely not going home.”

 

“You could study.”

 

“Fíli’s a crammer. And I’m not in the mood.”

 

It took a significant amount of self control for Bilbo to restrain from rolling his eyes. _Students_. He carefully ignored all thoughts of himself at that age, because… well, that period in his life didn’t really matter. “Aren’t there… shops or things you can skulk around in?”

 

“The only thing we’re really interested in is our Uncle coming over. Dunno when that’ll be, though. He doesn’t specify things like that ‘cause he’s never on time. Gets lost real easily.” Kíli grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “You really want to get rid of us, huh?”

 

“That’s – not what I meant.” Bilbo chucked a ball of scrap paper at Fíli before he ripped off another leaf from his geranium plants. “You’ve just got an annoying tendency to be destructive when in my office. I remember what happened in September, even if you two don’t.”

 

“Aw, we said we were sorry,” Fíli said, sounding anything but. “‘Sides, we like spending time with you.” He came up behind the desk to drape himself over Bilbo. “You’re like an uncle to us.”

 

“Hey, maybe we should introduce him to Uncle Frerin. Then he might actually turn out to be our uncle – and we’ll have three!”

 

Bilbo pushed Fíli away. Or, tried to. He had a grip worse than a giant octopus. “Let’s not play matchmaker, eh, boys?”

 

“Well, really, we wanted to ask you a favour,” Kíli said.

 

“And there it is.”

 

Fíli nestled his chin into Bilbo’s curls. “It’s just that we want to use the uni pool, but we need –”

 

“My presence. Yeah, yeah, I know the protocol.” He sighed. “Does this have to do with –”

 

“The tryouts for the team?” Kíli broke in. He fluttered his eyelashes prettily. “You’re awful smart.”

 

Bilbo sat back in his chair as best he could. “And I suppose you two won’t leave me alone until I agree?”

 

“Hey, you’re right, bro,” grinned Fíli. “He is awful smart.”

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, going near a pool had been a bad idea.

 

Bilbo wasn’t even sure how it happened. He’d been safe in the bleachers, actually working on his lesson plan. Fíli’ and Kíli’s shouts and laughter in the background had actually been relaxing, in a way. They rather reminded him of his many young cousins, bouncy and happy and full of life. He couldn’t _really_ help being drawn to the water’s edge by their pleading.

 

Then Fíli had disappeared. By the time Bilbo had realised this, had realised that Kíli’s grin was dangerously innocent, he was already tipping forward.

 

Fuck.

 

Water should’ve been water. It should not have mattered what form it was in, whether in a spray from the showerhead, or in a bathtub alongside a multitude of bubbles, or in the sea that one time his parents took him when he was three.

 

It did matter.

 

The first time he’d drowned, he’d been nine. They had just moved into their new house, with the swimming pool in the back garden. His parents had warned him, they had, but he’d been too curious – and too stubborn – for his own good. Bilbo had just been lucky that his father had been quick to action.

 

Not being the tallest of men, it was not very surprising that Bilbo could not reach the bottom of the university’s pool – worse still, Fíli and Kíli had been fooling around at the deep end. He flailed uselessly, not quite sure where exactly the surface was. It was all bubbles of air ( _that he was losing_ ) and shafts of light and his heartbeat in his ears. Was he screaming?

 

Bilbo shut his mouth tightly. His chest was already constricted; he’d lost too much air, too much, too much. Soon his lungs would be wringing out whatever oxygen remaining in their folds and then he’d just black out. His brain couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d feel the water rushing into his mouth – he might as well think of such things, because all those spots in his vision were definitely not real.

 

Gods, he didn’t want to die at work.

 

It was a shock – and with increasingly numbing skin – that Bilbo felt the arm clamp around his waist. It took moments to realise that he was being rescued, and by that time he was already out of the water. The ground was blissfully solid, the air like thick syrup.

 

His rescuer had a tight grip on his shoulder, shaking roughly. Dark hair. Kíli. “Are you alright? Can you breathe?”

 

Bilbo held his hand up, batting away the person leaning over him as he hacked out a lung. “Kíli – don’t, I’m fine.” He gasped in deep breaths and blinked to get his eyes into focus. “Your brother’ll have a field day if you have to CPR me.”

 

“Dr. Boggins!” Two blurry figures appeared on his left – one yellow-topped and the other brown-topped, and judging by the exclamation, the latter was Kíli. But then who was…?

 

Chest still heaving, Bilbo stared at the brothers dumbly for a few moments before turning to his (apparent) rescuer. He felt his heart stop (which was really quite counterproductive to his current condition).

 

Well. That certainly explained why Kíli and Fíli had always seemed weirdly familiar.

 

“Still trying to drown yourself?”

 

* * *

 

“You know, I didn’t think you were serious.”

 

Thorin’s lips quirked. He was unfairly calm as he treaded water. “I’m here, might as well relive some memories.”

 

Bilbo didn’t reply to this beyond smiling. Truth was, though, there had been many memories relived. Memories he hadn’t exactly been happy to revisit.

 

After a quick visit to the on-campus clinic and being declared healthy, Bilbo had happily submitted to Doctor Brown’s advice of going home. He was too shaken up to continue batting away Kíli’ and Fíli’s apologies, and too shaken up to refuse being accompanied home by Thorin. Too shaken up to even ask the other man where he’d gotten his change of clothes.

 

Their conversation had been surprisingly easy, even after the circumstances of their parting. Having already pieced together that Thorin was Fíli’ and Kíli’s uncle, Bilbo was then enlightened that Frerin was Thorin’s brother, and Dís his sister (and the boys’ mother). Thorin had apparently just finished off a recent project – not specifying what that project was – and was visiting to ‘catch up with the family’.

 

When they’d arrived at Bilbo’s home, Bilbo realised that he hadn’t had to give Thorin directions. His skin had prickled.

 

Making excuses, he’d gone up the stairs to shower and change, hoping that Thorin would catch the hint and leave before things became awkward. Instead he came down to find Thorin where he’d left him – except snoring and with the telly on.

 

Bilbo hadn’t had the heart to shoo him out.

 

“Why don’t you join me?”

 

Abruptly thrown back into the present, Bilbo blinked. “What?”

 

“Join me,” Thorin repeated.

 

“After almost drowning today.”

 

“It’s like falling off a bike. You’ve got to get straight back on it.”

 

“Except I’ve never been able to swim.” Twisting the material of his pyjama top, Bilbo said, “I don’t even have a suit.”

 

“So? I’m not wearing one.”

 

“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” He tried to sound stern, but he might have been too breathless for it, judging by Thorin’s smirk. “Plus you do realise we’re _outside_ , right?”

 

He held up a finger. “It’s night time.” Another finger. “Plus this is your house with the brick walls and trees fencing us in. It’ll be fine.” Thorin swam closer to the edge. “Now hurry up or I’ll be forced to take matters into my own hands.”

 

Bilbo yelped and skittered out of the way. He knew what _that_ meant; these were silk, for goodness sake. He didn’t need them dunked in chlorinated water, so he grudgingly pulled his pyjamas off and folded them neatly.

 

“Got a little thick in the middle, I see.”

 

Bilbo scoffed. “I was never thin.” He shivered all the same at the naked lust in Thorin’s voice and gaze, and slowly made his way to the ladder. “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

 

Thorin didn’t reply, remaining silent as Bilbo slowly lowered himself into the surprisingly warm water. He floundered for a moment, grip tight on the ladder, before big hands settled on his waist.

 

“I’ve got you,” Thorin rumbled.

 

Oh, he did. Even after all these years, he still did.

 

Very aware that his feet were – again – nowhere near the bottom, Bilbo slid his free arm around Thorin’s shoulders before even thinking of letting go. He loosened his grip on the ladder one finger at a time, grateful that he wasn’t being rushed. There was no pity on Thorin’s face, even as Bilbo clutched at his shoulders and made a panicked noise.

 

“Calm down.” Thorin’s thumbs stroked Bilbo’s skin. It felt… weird underwater. “Get used to the feeling first.”

 

“It’s not like being in the bath,” he snarked, trying to loosen his grip on Thorin.

 

“Exactly,” Thorin said, unruffled. “Take as long as you need.”

 

Bilbo shut his eyes, breath trembling past his parted lips. He figured that it was as good an attempt at relaxing as any. The night was startlingly silent and still; there wasn’t even a breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees. He could feel goose bumps along the skin that was above water. He could feel Thorin’s thumbs stroking, ever stroking.

 

He could feel his heart beating in his throat.

 

When he finally blinked his eyes open, Bilbo’s hold on Thorin was still secure, but at least he was no longer in danger of piercing the man’s skin with his fingernails.

 

“See?” Thorin’s voice was soft. “You’re fine.”

 

Bilbo raised his gaze, intending to meet Thorin’s eyes, but instead fixing on his lips. They were as pale and thin as he remembered, and much too close. It wouldn’t take a thought to lean forward, to close the distance between them, to steal Thorin’s breath.

 

_Would_ he still take Thorin’s breath away?

 

“So, um.” Bilbo tried not to think about his feet floating freely in the water. “Can we get out of the water now?”

 

“No.”

 

He raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

 

“Because you’re going to learn how to float on your back.”

 

Despite the meticulous instructions Thorin gave, this was infinitely more difficult than it was supposed to be – probably because Bilbo had to fight the urge to move his hands over certain exposed areas.

 

“You do know that I’ve seen you without clothes before, right?”

 

Biting back the half-lie that his shyness was due to them being outside, Bilbo muttered, “That was a long time ago.”

 

Thorin hummed in agreement. “And the years have been quite kind to you.”

 

Oh, oh, the moonlight had better not be bright enough to show his blush – else Bilbo would be cross. And more embarrassed than he was already. Nevertheless, he forced his hands to his sides and actively tried to relax his body. “This lesson is several years late. You know that, right?”

 

Thorin was silent for long enough that Bilbo worried he’d overstepped – never mind that _he_ wasn’t the one meant to be apologising. _He_ wasn’t the one who’d left Thorin after a half-arsed announcement that he ‘had to go’. _He_ wasn’t the one who’d dropped in out of the blue and had invited himself over to Thorin’s house.

 

“I know what I did when we were still… I know what I did was wrong. But I had my reasons. It was necessary for me to leave, and I wouldn’t change that decision. Not for anything.”

 

Bilbo stared up at the sky. “I see.”

 

“…you don’t.”

 

“Then tell me!” Sharp anger spiked through Bilbo. He wanted to reach up and throttle Thorin, the temptation to do so outweighed by the incontrovertible fact that Thorin was the only thing holding him aloft in the water. “Why are you so certain I’m not going to understand?”

 

“We are too different.”

 

“Not everyone is as emotionally stunted as you,” he snapped, and felt Thorin stiffen.

 

“I’m not going to apologise for what’s passed.”

 

“Give me an explanation, then. Don’t you think I’m owed that, at least?”

 

Thorin grasped Bilbo’s chin. “You are owed the world. I can’t give you that.”

 

Owed the – were they in some sort of medieval romance? Hating the way Thorin towered over him more than usual, Bilbo wrapped his fingers around the other man’s wrist. “Help me up.”

 

By ‘up’ he actually meant ‘on the edge of the pool’, which doubtless confused Thorin. He helped Bilbo all the same, effortless as he lifted Bilbo out of the water. From his new position, Bilbo felt immediately more comfortable; the air may have been just this side of chilly, but the cloying sensation of water pressing in all around him was gone. He breathed all the easier for it.

 

His lower legs were still immersed in the water, his knees tucked against Thorin’s sides. As Bilbo leaned forward, Thorin’s hands dropped from his hips. Bilbo could feel the tips of his fingers like separate points of heat against his skin.

 

Cupping Thorin’s face in his hands – and shivering helplessly at the wet tickle of his beard – Bilbo touched their foreheads together.

 

“For a long time I was angry at you – angry that you’d left, angry that you didn’t want to keep in contact, angry that you’d basically fucked me and dumped me.” He set his thumb across Thorin’s mouth so he couldn’t protest. “And I tried to forget you. Nearly worked, too, until your nephews almost drowned me today.” Bilbo heaved a sigh. “I think I’m glad they did. I was thinking about it in the shower. What you did isn’t unforgivable, but I’m going to need more than ‘it was necessary’ if you want me to forgive you.”

 

“Bilbo…” Thorin started, his lips whispering against Bilbo’s thumb, but Bilbo shushed him.

 

“But you’re right. I wouldn’t change what happened.” He breathed in deeply, gathering all the courage he knew he had. “I still love you. And I know you still love me.” Bilbo moved his hands, stroking under Thorin’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “The only question is where we go from here.”

 

Thorin smiled softly, drifting closer. “Forward.”

 

Bilbo could taste the chlorine at the first touch of their lips. It transported him to their wonderfully brilliant summers together, of the sweet kisses they’d exchanged in the sun, the firm pressure of Thorin’s hands at his hips, the tangle of their legs on the trimmed grass. His knees tightened around Thorin’s body, ankles locking at the small of his back.

 

Thorin’s shoulders felt broader, the muscles in his arms more defined. Bilbo’s hands glided over them happily, greedily, tracing the details and trying to stave off thoughts of being held down against the bed and _taken_.

 

“Don’t deserve you,” Thorin murmured, mouthing and nibbling Bilbo’s collarbones. “Never have, never have.”

 

Bilbo tangled his fingers in damp, dark locks. “We deserve each other.” He tugged gently, forcing Thorin’s gaze to his. “Listen to me. Believe me.” His eyes slid shut. “Kiss me.”

 

Thorin obeyed, moaning against his lips. Bilbo felt and heard him rise half-out of the water, probably bracing his hands on the pool’s edge, on either side of Bilbo’s thighs. Bilbo gasped in breaths between kisses, feeling like he was soaring high above the clouds and basking in the moonlight.

 

Strong as Thorin was, he could only keep his arms steady for so long. (Bilbo secretly hoped that his kisses had something to do with that.) As Thorin lowered himself, so too did the path of his mouth, his tongue laving a path down Bilbo’s chest and belly.

 

“Oh, please. _Please_!” Bilbo’s back arched when Thorin’s teeth came into play, every bite he bestowed soothed by thin lips and then subject to the sweet friction of Thorin’s beard.

 

“You are as intoxicating as I remember,” Thorin said between suckling kisses. “The years have really been kind. Very kind.” His fingers stroked over Bilbo’s skin with reverence enough to make Bilbo’s ears turn red.

 

He tugged on the hair in his grasp and Thorin followed, chuckling at the way their noses bumped together. “You’re talking too much,” Bilbo complained.

 

“Am I?” Thorin’s breath was warm and sweet, utterly intoxicating.

 

Bilbo hushed him, slotting their lips together. It really wasn’t the time for talking. Words would come later, when they had to settle all the misunderstandings that still lay between them, when they would see if they really could move forward. But now, now there were years to make up for. Now all he wanted to do was taste and touch.

 

He groaned when Thorin pulled back, barely placated by the soft kisses to his chin. Thorin removed Bilbo’s hands from his hair, placing pecks on the wrists before placing them on the ground. “Keep them there.”

 

Bilbo’s palms were already itching to return to (what he thought was) their rightful place, buried in Thorin’s silky hair. He fisted his fingers, eyes intent as his thighs were parted. The look Thorin gave him – all twinkling eyes and fiendish smirk – was thoroughly wicked as he bent down between them.

 

“Thorin –!”

 

Feeling his face grow hot as he leaned back on his hands, Bilbo was desperately holding back his mewls as Thorin licked and lapped at the head of his cock. His control was rapidly falling away as Thorin mercilessly dipped his head, his mouth a tight heat of suction, enveloping Bilbo’s length as far as he could go.

 

It was over too quickly, the teasing pressure of Thorin’s tongue, the firm circle of his lips, the slight graze of his teeth. Bilbo blinked past his haze of confusion as Thorin pulled away, swiping the back of his hand over his _beautiful_ mouth.

 

He tried to formulate a question beyond the piercing loss of that wet heat, but the words were barely out of his mouth before Thorin was yanking him forward.

 

Bilbo yelped loudly, grabbing at wide shoulders even as Thorin’s arms came up around him. “What –” He wrapped his legs around Thorin’s waist as the other man started moving through the water, apparently heading for the shallow end of the pool. “What are you doing?”

 

“You sort of got the hang of floating,” Thorin replied lightly. “And you kept your hands to yourself well enough. I thought I’d continue with the lesson.”

 

“Thorin.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Let’s drop the whole ‘lesson’ shtick, shall we?”

 

Thorin sighed. “No fun at all, rich brat.”

 

Bilbo nipped at Thorin’s jaw in retaliation, beard prickling his lips, the answering rumble in Thorin’s chest a triumph to his ears. So engrossed was he in trying to coax sounds from Thorin’s throat that he was almost unaware when Thorin sat, arranging Bilbo on his lap.

 

He certainly noticed when large fingers settled over his backside. And squeezed.

 

“Still fantastic.”

 

Bilbo hid his pleased smile in Thorin’s hair. “Shush.”

 

The glide of Thorin’s fingers was strangely muted, but the subsequent swirl of water that followed his touch made Bilbo shiver. It made him slide forward and seal their bodies from hip to chest, and Thorin hissed.

 

They moved together now, Bilbo’s hands holding their cocks together and Thorin’s hands over his. He let Thorin catch him in a kiss, barely a brush of their mouths as their rhythm quickened. Everything was incredibly overwhelming and the fact that they were doing this in the pool, with water surrounding them, rippling and splashing, that was –

 

That was _some_ kind of positive reinforcement.

 

“What’s so funny?”

 

Bilbo only shook his head, breathless and happy. “Nothing,” he said, lips stretched wide into a smile. “Nothing at all.”

 

Thorin didn’t reply beyond a huff of laughter, and then he dragged his teeth across Bilbo’s chest to catch his nipple. It made Bilbo curse and move his hands all the quicker.

 

They toppled over the edge one after another, hips jerking as they rode the crest of their pleasure. Bilbo pressed frantic kisses to all the skin he could reach, closing his eyes against the torrent of emotions rushing through his veins like fire.

 

Slowly he became aware of Thorin soothingly stroking up and down his back. Bilbo hummed happily, curling into Thorin’s grasp and resting his head on Thorin’s shoulder. Tonight he’d sleep with Thorin beside him. Tomorrow they’d see if they could spend their lives together.

 

But that was tomorrow.

 

“Thorin?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Could you please clean the pool?”

**Author's Note:**

> *coughs* Yeah, I don't know. Don't point out plotholes to me, I'm just glad it's over.


End file.
